Better Off His Whore
by MadameHotaru.of.87
Summary: Dorothy reflects on her reasons for leaving Quatre and the time she spent with him as she gives herself to Milliardo for yet another night.


Better Off His Whore  
  
One of these days I'm going to have to write a fic in which Quatre ISN'T the bad guy! This takes a few months apart from the series and Endless Waltz.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, or any of its characters.  
  
Dorothy ran her hands absently through Milliardo's hair, her eyes glazed over with fatigue and cold. Barely aware of where she even was, she felt his hands travel up her side as though she was feeling a ghost touching her. She heard his deep groan as he pulled her closer and ground his hips into hers as though he were a mile away. The bleached cotton sheets of their hotel were barely there and the fact that he had stripped her down to the skin didn't even register in her blurry mind. Once, she had read a story about faeries. It said that they were so small and such simple creatures, that there was really only room inside them for one feeling at a time.   
  
Although she knew she wasn't a faerie and that she was often far from a simple creature, she felt at that moment in time there was only room inside of her for one feeling at a time. Yet the most ironic part of the situation was that it wasn't a feeling that could be explained. Maybe she felt indignant, maybe she felt underestimated, maybe it was a hybrid of those and more. But it was controlled by one single thought.  
  
'I'm better off his whore than his lover.'  
  
Her gray eyes followed the sweat trails on Milliardo's skin as he raised himself up on his arms to look over her, to reign over her. She didn't bother covering herself with the white sheets and no blush rose into her cheeks as his own ice blue eyes raped her. His rough touches, his impersonal attitude, his violent fits, all of their stormy relationship was better than what she'd had with Quatre.  
  
As Milliardo slowly lowered himself towards her mouth, her mind shifted away from what she knew was coming to the recent events that had led her to this. It was like the VCR that was her mind had a rewind button, the events rushed past her in a backwards sequential order and she found herself again in Quatre's arms, his own eyes distant as he watched another, happier couple. The feeling of rage that had filled her then was gone now, replaced only with Milliardo.  
  
His moans, rough and dirty whispers, his animalistic grunts were beyond her now as she relived The Fight. Quatre wanted her to stay with him but only to see if maybe what they once had months earlier would come back. Part of her wanted to relive those memories but she had closed them off from herself, it was too painful reminding herself of how happy they had once been. The part that had wanted to keep those memories also wanted her to push free of Milliardo, dress, and run back to Quatre, screaming apologies and promises to stay faithful forever. However, she knew that if she went back, she'd go back to misery, to the longing for attention and affection.  
  
Quatre never had been very affectionate; he had once blamed it on shyness but now she knew it was his inner coldness that kept him from holding her, kissing her, stroking her hair. On the Libra, she had been with Milliardo for a night and she had gotten more affection, had felt more wanted then the 6 months that she had stayed with Quatre. So, after a few more months of holding on to what would never be, she let go and ran away from him and the life he was unknowingly forcing her into. Quatre never once tried to intentionally hurt her, at least nothing more than small bruises that he apologized for with an 'I-really-don't-care,-but-I'm-doing-it-anyway' attitude. But inside, he had pulverized her self-image.   
  
At one time, it wasn't Relena who was the Queen of the World, but herself. She was brilliant and beautiful. Now, now she was only good enough to be Milliardo's whore and it wasn't Milliardo who'd made her feel that way. It was almost as if Quatre would practice his jabs and taunts that he'd use at political meetings on her. And the worse part was she had no proof of the things he'd say because it really wasn't just what he'd say. It was the context in which he said it, it was the look he'd give her, the disappointed sighs. The 'why-am-I-going-out-with-you-again?' groans slit her wrists for her, the times in which he left her to fend for herself amongst people who were really wolves hungry for blood tied the noose and kicked her legs out from beneath her, and the familiar scenes in which she tried to catch his attention by changing her hair, changing her look, changing her whole world and failed that dug her grave.  
  
She clung to Milliardo's powerful shoulders as he released. She had met him again in a bar and after a few drinks, he took her to the hotel that he was hiding himself in. She had now been hiding with him for the past 3 weeks. Each night was the same. He would come to her in their bed and he would take what he want, give what he wanted to give, and fall asleep, clutching her. She knew it wasn't her that he dreamt of, fantasized was beneath him, but she didn't care. He needed her and that was a feeling she never felt with Quatre, who often told her that he needed nothing, and that included her. Milliardo rolled off of her and kissed her forehead in a surprising display of sweetness. Forced back into her present situation, she smiled at him and brushed the long blonde hair out of his eyes.   
  
"Goodnight," she whispered as he fell asleep on her chest. In the darkness, her mind reluctantly returned to her ex-lover. The back of her mind desperately wanted to ask the moonshine that was pouring into the hotel room if Quatre missed her, if he had lied when he said he didn't need her, if perhaps he was looking at the same moon and wondering where she was, and worrying if she was alright. But she continued to tell herself what she told herself the whole time she had flown from the colonies to Earth, the whole time she had traveled across the planet; he didn't love her and never would. And now, she reinforced that thought as she squashed the rising sadness at being separated from Quatre's arms with what she'd told herself these past three weeks…  
  
"I'm better off his whore than his lover," she told the moon.  
  
Well, so far, that's the highest rating I've ever slapped onto a fic. Hehehe, hope you all liked it, I decided to write something different before continuing on with Out Of Tune!! 


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